


Begin Again

by sanctuary_for_all



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Family, First Meetings, Fix-It, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Reincarnation, Second Chances, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-23
Updated: 2016-04-26
Packaged: 2018-02-08 11:39:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 15,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1939647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanctuary_for_all/pseuds/sanctuary_for_all
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One more life, together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Before

**Author's Note:**

> If Arthur's really going to come back to save England again, I think he'd probably need to be re-incarnated so he can learn everything world leaders these days need to. And ... well, I've always loved the thought of them getting to grow up together (Merlin's Martin, though, because if he was actually named Merlin and he had a best friend named Arthur they'd be hearing about it from everyone for the rest of their natural lives. He gets dubbed "Merlin" pretty quick, though).
> 
> I would also like to apologize for any failures I make in any English slang or cultural references, and welcome corrections.

The fae, as a whole, do not pay attention to time. When your lives are guided by the ebb and flow of destiny, not the tick of the clock, human constructs such as years and centuries are meaningless.

But they could always feel Emrys, as the water feels a fish when it breaks the surface. Other sorcerers and sorceresses died, reborn without their powers as magic slowly faded from the mortal realm. The once busy surface of the boundary between the worlds grew largely still, the power surviving in only a few family lines that held the strongest souls. As metal filled the planet, however, the fae's perception of even that magic began to dim.

The silence, however, only served to draw attention to Emrys's presence. He had been meant to die and be reborn like other humans, his mortal frame constantly renewing itself while the magic in him remained endless. But Emrys remained alive, the magic holding his physical form at the same age when he lost his king, and stubbornly refused to bend to any ebb or flow. He sometimes wore the guise of the aged, to better pass among the mortals unseen, but to the fae he stood out like a jagged stone among the waves. Like a memory made flesh.

Arthur, they kept aside. He, too, distorted the flow of destiny, a powerful enough soul that simply by living he would become the fulcrum of whatever age he was in. Denied the lives he might have had, they kept him dreaming until he was most needed.

When they released him, to prepare and grow for the time when he was once again called, they knew that they could not leave the matter to destiny as they once had. This time, Emrys was waiting.

And they did not know what he would do.

000

The corridor outside of the nursery was oddly silent, free of the bustle that filled the rest of the hospital at this time of day. There was no one to see the gangly, dark-haired young man, face pressed against the nursery window like a starving man staring at a scrap of food.

She did not taste as mortals did, but the magic in the air burned the back of her throat. _Emrys_ , she whispered, the sound meant not meant for clumsy ears of flesh.

He did not move, all his attention fixed on the mortal babe sleeping uneasily on the other side of the glass. She knew he had heard her, even weakened as she was by the cold iron that surrounded her. _You cannot steal the child, Emrys. Arthur must have resources and privilege if he is to fulfill his destiny._

"Destiny?" The word was a snarl as Emrys whipped around to face her, and with it she felt the lash of a fear that hadn't touched her in centuries. His eyes burned, living concentrations of the time her people normally managed to escape, and as they bore into hers she wondered briefly how any mortal could bear the weight of them. "Don't you bloody _dare_ talk to me about destiny. You took his _mother_ again."

_Her sacrifice is needed to bring the fulcrum into the world. The Once and Future King must know sorrow._

Emry's eyes flared, even the light of his powers somehow cold. Jagged cracks split the glass with the fury of lightning, and the metal frame began to bend toward her as if in threat. When he spoke again, his voice held the chill of iron in it. "No more sacrifices. Not from him."

She watched him, the greatest sorcerer who had ever lived. The embodiment of their magic in the mortal realm.

They had lost him centuries ago.

 _Why did you not let yourself be reborn?_ she asked. The metal frame curled even closer, making the world waver briefly. She took a step back. _You did not have to bear the pain this long. Destiny would have made certain you were ready for his return._

His laugh was harsh. "Destiny lies." Then, helplessly, he turned back to the glass. Emrys rested his palms against the surface, the cracks healing with a thought, and he swallowed like the young man he no longer was. "He didn't want me to change," he whispered, voice so low she suspected the words were not meant for her.

The fae did not acknowledge time. Love, however, they had simply never understood.

Still, there was a strange feeling in her chest. Regret perhaps. Maybe even grief. It had been cruel of them, to give him a human heart.

 _Will you let yourself be reborn, now that he has?_ she asked softly. _Come to him with the heart of the young man he remembers, not the one torn and hardened by the centuries spent without him?_

Emrys sighed, resting his forehead against the glass. "You'll put me in China somewhere. I won't find him until it's too late."

She paused. The fae did not normally care about being trusted, but another lie would make Emrys the worst of enemies. _Hunith has been reborn,_ she said instead, offering an exchange of truth as she would to another fae. _She lives in England, not far from the estate Luther will eventually bring his son home to. She fully grown, and could easily be with child sometime in the next few months._

Emrys's head had whipped up again at the mention of Hunith's name, staring at her with wide, haunted eyes. " _No_." His voice was tight. "Do _not_ make me choose between them."

_Do you really think that you could not find him, with so little distance between you? Rebirth will ease your memories, but it will not be enough to erase the centuries of hunger in your soul._

She did not tell him how restlessly Arthur had slept, the name Merlin on his lips like a prayer to the Christian god. It would bring Emrys no comfort, and only make him more intractable.

Finally, he lifted his head to look at her.  "I _will_ find him," he said quietly. "And I _will_ protect him this time."

 _I do not doubt it_. She lifted her hand to his forehead, the weight of her fingertips fading even as they touched his flesh. _And when you and Arthur return, perhaps you can teach us about love._

Within moments, the corridor was empty of everything but the taste of slowly fading magic.


	2. Ages 6 and 7

For the first seven years of his life, there were only two things that Arthur Pendleton really cared about – trying to make his dad proud of him and smiling at pretty girls. His dad mostly didn’t seem to notice, but the girls always did, and Arthur told himself that and toys were all a kid really needed.

That day, his nanny had taken him to the park, promptly ignoring him so she could chinwag with her mates. Arthur immediately rounded up a group of kids to play Knights of the Round Table, climbing up with half of them to defend the play tower while the other half stormed the imaginary gates.

He’d just set off an imaginary catapult when he caught sight of a fight going on at the corner of the playground. The grownups were oblivious, just like usual, but a scrawny, dark-haired kid was being surrounded by the Holton twins, the two biggest, stupidest kids in year 4. Arthur half expected the kid to immediately throw himself on the ground and beg for mercy, but when Toby lifted a fist the kid just charged him.

Reese came over to see what his king was staring at. “Kid’s gonna get squashed,” he said, shaking his head.

Suddenly, Arthur came to a decision. “No, he’s not.”

Reese looked at him in surprise. “You don’t even know him.”

Arthur, however, was already gone, pushing the invaders out of the way as he slid down the slide and raced over to the fight. Surprisingly, the kid wasn’t dead yet, and had somehow even gotten Toby on the ground for a few seconds while Arthur hadn’t been looking. Tommy, however, was trying to beat the kid’s face in, and Arthur jumped on Tommy’s back and just started pounding.

The kid wriggled out of the way, and Arthur thought that he’d finally run to safety. He hadn’t quite gotten Tommy down when he heard Toby stand up behind him, and he gave one last kick and hoped he’d be able to turn around in time.

Before he could, however, he heard a solid thud. Arthur looked just in time to see Toby on the ground again, the dark-haired boy standing behind him swaying slightly. He had a bloody nose and a slightly wild expression, and he stared at Arthur like he’d suddenly appeared out of thin air. Then he grinned. “My hero.”

Arthur felt dizzy for a second, like he was suddenly having a dream even though it was the middle of the day. He had the feeling you got at the first day of summer break, the sheer relief of finally getting the thing you’d been waiting absolutely forever for, and even though that was stupid it didn’t stop him from feeling it.

He accepted the hand the kid held out, scrambling to his feet. “What dumb thing did you do to get those two mad at you?”

The kid looked at him like he was an idiot. “Be poor.”

Oh. That made sense, actually. “What’s your name?”

“Martin.” The kid reached over, brushing some dirt out of Arthur’s hair. “What’s yours?”

“Arthur. Tilt your head back.” He rifled through Toby’s pockets for the bandana he knew he always carried, then held it against Martin’s bloody nose.

Martin rolled his eyes. “I can do this myself, you know.”

“Fine.” He stepped back when Martin’s hand replaced his, looking him over to make sure nothing else was wrong. “Want to play Knights of the Round Table with us? I need help defending the castle.”

Martin looked over at him. “I won’t be much help with a bloody nose.”

Arthur shrugged. “I can wait.”


	3. Ages 12 and 13

Sometimes, Martin Emrys hated Harry Potter with a passion.

Yes, the other kid had an evil sorcerer trying to kill him. But he also went to a school that knew all about magic, who could actually _teach_ him about spells instead of making him work through them by trial and error. He had friends who knew he could do magic, and thought he was amazing instead of a freak.

The real world wasn’t like that. True, the real world wasn’t supposed to have magic, either, but clearly science had just thrown its hands up in the air when Martin was born. He’d had magic inside him since before he could talk, waiting to be shaped with a thought and sometimes pouring out of him even when it had no shape. Sometimes, it was easy for Martin to make it do what he wanted. Most of the time, it wasn’t.

One of his earliest memories was a sitter screaming when he accidentally made one of the pots on the stove float. His mum had convinced her that food poisoning was making her hallucinate, but from that point on the girl looked at him as if he was something not quite human.

Since then, Martin had been careful to never let anyone know what he could do. He never wanted anyone to look at him like that again.

But then he met Arthur, and things became more complicated.

000

“Seriously, Martin. Just tell me.” Arthur’s face was stiff, just like it was every time his father pulled him into his office to have a talk. “Is there something wrong with you? Are you dying?”

The first question had thrown Martin enough that it took him a little while to realize it had led into the second. His eyes widened. “What? No.” He scrubbed a hand across his face, trying to settle the butterflies in his stomach. Arthur knew he wasn’t a freak. Finding out his eyes glowed and he could make things move with his mind wasn’t going to change that.

Right?

Arthur’s stiffness disappeared, shoulders relaxing as he let out a relieved breath. Then he went back to being profoundly annoyed. “Then what’s the big secret? Are you secretly an alien, and you brought me out to the middle of nowhere because this is the only spot your ship can land?”

Suddenly, Martin felt queasy. In the movies, government people always pointed guns at aliens and tried to lock them up in military bases somewhere. Would they have the same policy for magic users? “What if I was?”

Arthur looked at him like he was an idiot, a glare that shifted into genuine concern when he realized Martin was at least sort of serious. “Martin, don’t be stupid.” His voice was kind as he held onto the younger boy’s shoulders. “If you’re not sick, whatever you have to say isn’t going to be that scary. Just tell me.”

Martin swallowed, looking into the bright blue eyes of the boy he was pretty sure he’d do anything for. He’d wanted to tell Arthur about his magic for years, dreamed of it until it had become a need strong as a drum beat inside his head. If Arthur could know him as he really was, could see his magic and not be afraid, then it didn’t matter if no one else ever did.

But if he couldn’t… “Promise you won’t look at me like I’m a monster,” Martin whispered.

Now Arthur looked really concerned. “Martin, stop this. I swear to you that _nothing_ you could say to me right now will make me look at you like you’re anything worse than an idiot. Just tell me.”

Martin squared his shoulders, walking backwards away from Arthur until there was a decent amount of space between them. “I can’t,” he said finally, voice scratchy like he’d been sick. “I have to show you.”

Then, looking anywhere but at Arthur, he lifted his hands. He’d thought about the best way to do this, something that Arthur wouldn’t think was just a trick he had set up.

Martin’s eyes flared. Every rock in the small clearing lifted at once, from tiny pebbles to a few fist-sized chunks. As they moved together Arthur jumped back, startled, and when they started spinning through the air in a big circle he fell back on his arse. His face was frozen, eyes huge as he stared up at the rocks spinning through the air in front of him.

Finally, Martin couldn’t take it anymore and returned the rocks gently back to the ground. Arthur still didn’t move, but now he was staring at Martin with the same wide-eyed frozenness he’d aimed at the rocks. It could have been shock, but it could have just as easily been horror.

Martin shivered, even though the air wasn’t even a little bit cold, and waited for what could be the worst moment in his life.

Finally, Arthur’s eyes seemed to focus, locking on to Martin’s. “That was you. You—” The words cut off, as if Arthur couldn’t manage the rest of the sentence.

 _I have magic._ The words, said in his own voice, echoed through his head as Martin nodded. His chest hurt like all of the rocks were piled on it at the same time.

For a few moments, they just stared at each other in the silence. Then Arthur inhaled deliberately, as if he’d just remembered he needed to. “How many people know?”

Martin took a few deep breaths, just to make sure he wasn’t going to do something stupid like start crying. “My mum.”

When he didn’t continue, Arthur’s look became intent. “And….”

Martin shook his head. There was no “and,” except for the 13-year-old boy sitting across from him.

When Arthur realized this, he looked surprised all over again. In the next breath, he looked profoundly relieved. “Good,” he said fervently, pushing himself to his feet and heading over to Martin When he got close enough, he dragged the younger boy into a fierce hug. “You have to protect yourself.”

Martin held on, horrified to find his eyes filling with tears. “You don’t think I’m a freak?”

“Mental, yes. A freak? No.” Arthur’s voice was affectionate. “But the minute you figure out how to fly, you’d better take me.”

Martin’s laugh was only a little wild. “I tried once. I crashed into a tree.”

“Then you’ll also have to learn how to steer.” Arthur held him tighter.  “You idiot. I can’t believe you thought I’d call you a monster.”

Martin shrugged helplessly. How could he explain how afraid he’d been?

Thankfully, Arthur seemed to take that as enough of an answer. “I will have to call you _something_ , though.”

Martin sniffled. “I like dollop head, myself.”

Arthur laughed. “I didn’t mean like that, you dollop head. I meant that a wizard should have a more impressive name than Martin.”

“Hey.”

“It’s true.” Arthur pulled back just enough to look at Martin’s face, considering his options. After a moment, he nodded. “Merlin.”

Martin felt wildly disoriented for a moment, as if the world had tipped itself sideways and he was busy sliding down the side of the planet. “Merlin,” he repeated, the word itself seeming to tingle with magic. It felt … right, somehow. Like it was more than a nickname.

Then he took his next breath, and the feeling was gone.

“Definitely Merlin.” Arthur stepped back, clapping a hand on Martin’s shoulder. “It’s not like we can go around naming you after that ponce Harry Potter, can we?”

Martin couldn’t help but smile.


	4. Ages 16 and 17

Arthur’s Friday nights belonged to Gwen. It was a rule.

She was kind enough to pretend she’d meant the edict for Arthur’s legion of groupies, but Merlin knew who it had really been directed at. He didn’t mind – if she and Arthur were going to get married and have a houseful of gorgeous babies, as seemed to be the current plan, it was probably best that Merlin start re-acquainting himself with a concept of alone time.

If you loved Arthur, learning to share was a survival mechanism.

000

“Merlin!”

The young man in question looked up at the fond exasperation in his mother’s voice, amused once again at the way even she had adopted Arthur’s nickname for him. He really should just put it on his license and be done with it – if DVLA had trouble with it, he was sure Arthur could talk them around.

At her son’s confused expression, Hannah Emrys Gaius raised her eyebrows meaningfully and pointed at the broom sweeping by itself in the corner. “I’m sure that spot of floor’s clean by now, love. The broom hasn’t moved for the last 20 minutes.”

Merlin winced, eyes flaring briefly as he used his magic to nudge the broom back into the circuit it had initially been taking around the kitchen. “Sorry.” He tipped his maths textbook up so she could see the cover. “Bit distracted.”

“How _has_ calculus been progressing, by the way?” Across the table, Richard Gaius looked up from the essays on symbolism in Medieval poetry that he’d been grading. He’d married Hannah just after Merlin had turned 15, and though Merlin had zero experience he thought Richard had turned out to be a pretty good stepfather overall. “The one grey spot in your otherwise sterling academic record.”

“ _Light_ grey,” Merlin corrected, smiling a little at the teasing light in the older man’s eyes. “Still pulling a B.”

“And what a lucky mother I am, to have a son whose academic worst is a B.” Hannah dropped a kiss on top of Merlin’s head. “But do mind that broom. I’d hate for you to have to actually start using your _hands_.”

Robert gave a mock gasp of horror, and Merlin was about to volley back something brilliantly witty at both of them when his mobile rang. Unsurprised to see Morgana’s number – it couldn’t be Arthur, it was date night – Merlin didn’t bother finding a quiet corner before he answered. “Hey.”

“Tell me you’ve made some sense of this.”

Morgana was often annoyed that the world didn’t bend to her will as quickly as it should, but this time she seemed genuinely upset. “Sense of what?”

“Don’t be stupid. I can’t get Gwen to say a word about it, which is the _first_ thing she hasn’t been willing to talk about in the entire time I’ve known her. I’m relying on you to have pried something more coherent out of Arthur.”

Merlin went cold. Suddenly, Morgana had all his attention. “I haven’t seen him at all.”

There was a sudden silence on the other end of the phone. Then, finally, “You’re serious.”

“I wouldn’t bloody well lie about this, Morgana.” Merlin stood, shoving his feet into trainers as both his mother and Robert looked on in concern. “Tell me what happened.”

Morgana swore, then sighed. “She broke up with him. And I _cannot_ believe I am saying that in the same tone that I would use for a major crisis, but she has that same frozen, calm look she gets when she’s done something terrible. She’s just sitting there staring into the middle distance, cradling the teacup as if it’s a baby chick.”

Merlin froze. “She broke up with Arthur.” Arthur, who looked at Gwen with soft, warm happiness every time she was in the room. Arthur, who was enough of a secret romantic to genuinely like 80's pop ballads. Arthur, who had stood up to his _father_ for Gwen.

“I know that tone, and you’re not allowed to kill her. You know as well as I do that Arthur’s enough of a prat that this could be entirely his fault.” Then she sighed. “But he didn’t ring you. And now I’m worried about both of them.”

Merlin was already on his way out the door. “I’ll find him.”

000

The lights were mostly off at the Pendleton mansion, since the majority of the staff had gone home and Arthur’s father was on a business trip to Geneva. Still, there was only one place Arthur went when he was really upset.

Okay, two. But he hadn’t come over to Merlin’s house, so this was the only other option.

Waving at the guard posted at the front gate – after this many years, Merlin could ride an elephant in and no one would blink an eye – Merlin parked and headed around to a windowless section on the mansion’s east side. Nudging the security cameras a little out of the way with his powers, Merlin looked up at the roof line and trying not to worry any more than he already was.

Why _hadn’t_ Arthur come over? Or called, at least, if he didn’t think he could handle mum-style sympathy yet. The not-telling was no surprise – Arthur would rather not talk at all about the things that really mattered – but he generally wanted someone around to keep him from thinking too much. He generally wanted _Merlin_ around, to be specific.

Except, apparently, this time. The prat.

Well, it wasn't like he had to listen to him. Flexing his fingers, Merlin hummed the Spider-Man theme song under his breath as his eyes flashed gold. Then, kicking off his trainers again, he walked over and started climbing up the wall.

When he made it up and over the edge, he stopped for a moment to look at the figure laid out flat on the incredibly expensive roof. With a sigh, Merlin walked over and glared down at the most wonderful, infuriating man he’d ever known. “And you didn’t ring me _because_ ….”

Arthur didn’t say anything for what seemed like ages, and Merlin seriously considered kicking him just to make it clear how worried he was. Then, finally, he met Merlin’s eyes. “Because I knew you’d find me anyway.” He sounded so _tired_. “And this way, I didn’t have to say it out loud.”

Merlin glared down at him for another moment, thinking how much _less_ worried he would have been if Arthur had shown up like he was supposed to. “You really are a prat,” he said finally, then stretched out next to Arthur. Leaning his head back – there was a trick to how you had to angle your body – Merlin was careful to leave just a little bit of space between him and Arthur.

They lay there for awhile like that, staring up at the night sky and not saying a word. Finally, Merlin gave in and broke the silence. “I’m not going to ask if you want to talk about it.”

He could barely see Arthur’s mouth flicker into a smile, but he could hear it in his voice. “You’re a wise man.”

Merlin watched him, trying to sense some sign of what had happened. On some level, it didn’t really matter – Arthur was entirely capable of driving people away, but if it was his fault he’d be pacing around explaining in great detail why it _wasn’t_. The more he regretted what he’d said, the more defensive he tended to get.

Which meant that this was all Gwen’s fault, and even if she’d had the best reason in the world it wasn’t enough. Merlin would talk her into patching things up if that’s what would make Arthur happy, but he’d never be able to entirely forgive her.

Arthur had talked like she’d be there forever, and she’d walked away. The one thing Arthur couldn’t bear was losing the people who mattered.

“But you need to tell me how to take care of you.” Merlin knew he’d made it a command, but the worry inside him demanded nothing less. When Arthur didn’t say anything, Merlin elbowed him in the arm. “I don’t care what it is, though if you even think about telling me to go home I’ll smack you. Just tell me _something_.”

After what seemed like a small eternity, Arthur sighed. “Why?”

Merlin’s brow furrowed. “Why will I smack you? Because you’ll deserve it.”

“Not that.” Arthur squeezed his eyes shut. “You’re the only person I’ve ever known who would order me to let myself be taken care of. Who would care enough to bother, or know me well enough to know that you’d have to. I’ve never understood why.”

All Merlin could do was stare at him. He would swear to his dying day that he wasn’t in love with Arthur Pendleton, no matter how much of a lie it was, because he knew he had no chance and he couldn't bear the thought of Arthur trying to be kind about it.

But everyone knew how devoted Merlin was. Literally every single person who had spent any significant amount of time with the two of them together could probably write an essay on the topic. Merlin wasn’t ashamed of it – Arthur could be frustrating enough to inspire violence, but he was also the kind of person who would throw himself in traffic to save a complete stranger – but he’d always sort of assumed that Arthur took it for granted. He’d never said anything about it…

His own thoughts from a few minutes before came back to him with perfect clarity. _Arthur would rather not talk at all about the things that really mattered._

Bloody hell.

“I’m going to kill Gwen.” The words burst out of him without any direct contribution from his brain, a combination of fury at himself for not noticing the hole in Arthur’s self-esteem and Gwen for poking at it.

Arthur had gone almost terrifyingly still. “For what?” he asked carefully, as if the words were standing on some fragile ledge above a very high cliff.

Merlin froze as well, frantically reviewing everything he’d said. Could he have somehow betrayed himself? “For hurting you,” he said finally, voice equally careful.

Arthur didn’t say anything for another long moment, then he closed his eyes. “Just don’t go anywhere,” he said finally, voice soft.

Merlin’s shoulders relaxed, but he couldn’t shake the uneasiness coiled deep inside his chest. He had no idea if he’d just avoided disaster or missed something profoundly important.

Either way, he couldn’t worry about it now. He scooted closer to Arthur, enough that their heads and shoulders lightly touched. “I’m happy to be here until the day I die,” he said quietly, the words coming from someplace impossibly deep inside him. “So stop saying stupid things.”

Arthur breathed out a laugh. “You have such a unique way of comforting people.”

Merlin smiled. “It works, doesn’t it?”

He could feel Arthur’s shoulder relax against his. “Yes, it does.”


	5. Ages 17 and 18

From his sixth birthday to sometime a little after his 13th, Arthur Pendleton dreamed of joining the military. He wanted to fight to keep his country and his fellow soldiers safe, to protect all the people overseas who didn’t have good leaders to watch over them. He knew his father would never let him, but Arthur told himself he could figure out a way to do his duty to both his father and his country.

He’d only ever admitted it to Merlin, half expecting everyone else to react the same way his father would. Arthur could still remember the look on his best mate’s face – grief-stricken for a split second, then immediately resolved. If Arthur was going, Merlin would go with him. Since that was exactly what Arthur had hoped the younger boy would say, he hadn’t argued.

But fitting Merlin into the picture meant that it started fraying. Martin Emrys was almost a year younger than Arthur, a good deal skinnier, and willful enough that he sometimes seemed biologically incapable of taking orders. He was also brilliant, with enough brains crammed into his head that he was destined for something more than having terrorists shoot at him. When Arthur found out about Merlin’s magic, that simply sealed the deal. Someone that special, you had to keep safe.

It wasn’t as if it came down to Merlin or the dream. It was simply that everything in his life had to fit in around Merlin.

Five years later, Arthur finally realized how dangerous that really was.

000

“Talk to me, you clotpole.”

Arthur Pendleton, only son of Royal Crowne CEO Luther Pendleton, was used to being treated in a certain way. He’d had household staff at his beck and call since the moment he was born, led his adoring classmates since year 1, and though he was only 18 had the respect of many of his father’s employees.  Sometimes, it seemed as though the entire city of London instinctively deferred to him.

Except, of course, for one particular 17-year-old smart mouth who Arthur couldn’t seem to function without.

“Most people begin a discussion with some sort of greeting, Merlin.” Arthur didn’t look up from his laptop, briefly wondering if he should have informed the household staff that Merlin’s access shouldn’t be quite as free as it had always been. The guilt that hit a second later immediately negated that idea. Even unspoken, the thought felt traitorous.

Years of training kept all of this off his face. “It’s considered civilized.”

Magic snapped the lid closed, quickly enough that Arthur only barely yanked his fingers out of the way in time. He looked up at Merlin, the younger man’s eyes a swirl of hurt and anger that radiated like an almost physical ache, and immediately wished he hadn’t.

Merlin knew him well enough to know when to press the advantage. “You told me not to go anywhere, and I didn’t,” he began, the unsteadiness in his voice far more dangerous than the anger. “Even when you started pulling away, I stayed right by your side and didn’t stove your head in like you deserved. I waited until you and Gwen figured out how to be mates again and didn’t _once_ force you to talk about your feelings. And what do you do? You bloody _enlist_ without telling me!”

Arthur looked anywhere but at Merlin’s eyes. “I haven’t signed the papers yet. I needed to discuss the matter with my father first.”

“Oh, really? And how’d he take it?”

“He decided it would be a maturing experience for me.” In fact, there had been far less of a fight than Arthur had been expecting. He wondered if his father had been more worried about Merlin’s influence than he’d ever said.

Even if he did, he had no idea of the full extent of the problem. How Gwen had set up the Friday night date rule for _Arthur_ , because it was apparently the only way he could go a few hours without at least ringing Merlin. How she’d left him because she knew that, no matter how much he loved her, it was Merlin who would always come first.

Arthur hadn't been able to argue.

Worse, it had started him thinking. It meant something that he wanted Merlin around pretty much every second of the day, that even when things had been at their best with Gwen it had been Merlin he'd still wanted to talk everything out with. It probably meant a hell of a lot more that he sometimes caught himself staring at Merlin, memorizing the way his hands moved and all the little shifts in his face. Arthur had never been attracted to another man, but Merlin had always been there. No one could outshine Merlin…

“Fine. Then I’m going with you.”

The words jerked Arthur out of his thoughts. “Don’t be absurd.” He kept his voice exasperated, because all of the emotions he actually felt weren’t safe. Setting the laptop aside, he stood up so Merlin wouldn’t have such a height advantage. “You’re too young to enlist. Besides, Oxford’s expecting you in the fall.”

“They’re also expecting _you_ , if you remember!” It took clear effort for Merlin to bite back his temper. “I finished my A levels early and you worked your _arse_ off so we could stay together!”

They had. Staying with Merlin had been one of the defining factors of his existence, twined so close with his responsibilities that he’d never been sure which came first. It hadn’t mattered – Merlin understood his sense of duty the same way he’d always understood everything else about Arthur. When he could pretend Merlin was simply his best mate, he’d fit perfectly.

Now…. Arthur would re-write the entire course of his life to keep Merlin. The problem was, the younger man didn’t have the slightest bit of interest in him that way. And when Merlin finally did find the person who would always come first for _him_ , Arthur genuinely had no idea what he would do.

If there was a continent or two between them when it happened, however, Merlin wouldn’t see his reaction. And by the time he’d returned from whatever tour he was on, Arthur would hopefully have found a way to accept reality enough that he wouldn’t lose Merlin completely.

“It doesn’t matter.” Arthur looked away from the pain that flashed in Merlin’s eyes. “I’m sure Her Majesty’s Army will want me to continue my education in some form or another.”

 “Fine.” Merlin lifted his chin. “Then I’m still coming with you. My magic is good enough to make me look like an old man. You really think I can’t adjust my age by a year?”

“And constantly run the risk of being caught?” Arthur’s own voice was climbing, but he couldn’t have stopped himself even if he’d wanted to. “Not just as a liar, but as a magic user? You _know_ what they could do to you!”

It was an old nightmare of his, the specifics changing with each story that hit the news. He could throw himself between Merlin and bullies, or bullets, but even his money and power would be nothing against that kind of enemy.

“You forget, Arthur. I’m not some barmy kid waving a wand around.” For a moment, the younger man’s eyes glowed golden. “For all you know, my magic might be the only thing that keeps _you_ from getting killed! You need me!”

The sheer truth of those last three words stole any useful denials from Arthur’s throat, though he knew Merlin hadn’t meant it that way. Still, it was Arthur’s job to protect Merlin, not the other way around. “That doesn’t matter,” he snapped, trying to cover.

“Stop saying it doesn’t matter!” Merlin shouted back, furious now. “You’re trying to leave me again! Of _course_ it matters!”

The universe seemed to stutter for just a second at the word “again,” and Arthur’s recurring dream of dying in Merlin’s arms flickered through his brain. Then the moment melted away, and there was only the anguish on his Merlin's face. “That's not...” Helpless to do otherwise, Arthur crossed the distance between them. “Merlin. I’ll be fine.”

“You can’t promise that.” Merlin’s voice cracked, but the anger didn’t lessen. “And you can’t stop me from going with you.”

“Merlin.” Without any instruction from his brain, Arthur’s hands moved to the sides of Merlin’s face. He’d started this trying to put some distance between them, but somehow in the last few seconds the little space he’d managed had disappeared completely. He’d hurt Merlin, deep enough to bleed, and didn’t even have the words to explain the fumbled reasoning that had led him to cause the injury. Merlin deserved that, at least, no matter what the cost.

So Arthur kissed him.

It was brief, not much more than a desperate press of lips, but it caused Merlin to stumble back like he’d been struck by lightning, The two men stared at each other, Merlin’s mouth opening and closing a few times as he floundered for questions that refused to come.

Arthur held Merlin’s eyes, not thinking about all the implications of what he’d just done. Hopefully, the distance would give both of them enough time to figure out how to still be friends. “Now do you understand?”

Suddenly, Merlin was no longer floundering. His gaze bore into Arthur’s as if he could see inside the other man’s soul, and an instant later he lunged forward and grabbed the front of Arthur’s shirt. Then he pulled him close and drowned him in a far more intense kiss.

Arthur had an instant to wonder where on earth a man who’d gone on three dates in his entire life had ever learned to kiss like that, then his brain shorted out and he was lost in the feel of Merlin’s mouth against his. All he could do was grab the younger man again and pull him closer, everything he’d never been able to say finally spilling out of him.

When they broke apart, Merlin’s eyes shone with a completely non-magical light. “You cabbage head,” he whispered, voice so full of love that it sounded like the most tender of endearments.

Arthur let out a breath that was almost a laugh, unsteady with relief and wonder at what had just happened. He’d never imagined being wrong could feel like a miracle. “You should have been a bit more obvious about being madly in love with me.”

“If I’d known you’d have the sense to be madly in love with _me_ , I would have.” He leaned his forehead against Arthur’s. “You’re not going anywhere, you know.”

“Of course not.” And if he did, it would be somewhere where Merlin could be right by his side. “But don’t think this means you can just kiss me every time you want to get your way.”

Merlin grinned, eyes wet. “Are you saying it doesn’t work?”

“No.” Arthur’s eyes were wet as well as he leaned in for another kiss. “But you’re dangerous enough as it is.”


	6. A Father's Perspective

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ****ATTENTION****
> 
> For those of you making a return visit to this fic, the new chapter you're looking for is called "Before" and is all the way back at the beginning. I've had the prologue for this story in my head for a long time, but I was telling some of it to a friend and she demanded I write it down. 
> 
> ********************

“Sir.”

At the driver’s quiet word, Luther Pendleton lifted his head from the monthly reports he’d been reviewing on his tablet. Tucking it away, he stepped through the door the man held open for him. “Thank you. That will be all.”

The man nodded, then returned to the car without a word. Despite the lateness of the hour, the man had remained impeccably polite and never once attempted useless conversation. Luther made a note to request the man on a permanent basis.

As the car drove away, Luther turned to the car that had no business being in front of his house at 3:15 in the morning. Originally, it had been Arthur’s car, though his son had rid himself of it less than a year later with a complicated story involving the vehicle’s “feel.” Luther had chided his son for irresponsible behavior, only realizing the true situation weeks later when he had seen Martin Emrys behind the wheel.   

With anyone else, Luther would have been tempted to accuse the young man of manipulating Arthur. But he had seen the satisfaction in his son’s eyes as Arthur watched Martin get out of the car that first afternoon, the same pride that was always there when he made a particularly challenging play during a footy match. The scheme had been his son’s from the very beginning.  

Luther looked back up at the dark, silent house, the one Yvette had so loved for its sense of history. He had been less than pleased by the thought of Arthur joining the service – he refused to use the word “afraid” – but in some ways it seemed like a safer option than Martin Emrys. The military could sharpen his son’s leadership skills, as well as create a potential bond with other men of his age he could later utilize in his business dealings with the company. Martin, on the other hand, made Arthur forget his place in the world. The idea that they would be forced to spend time apart had not been an unwelcome one.

Now, though, it was 3:15 in the morning. Martin Emrys’s car was still in the driveway.

Slowly, Luther made his way into the house, leaving his briefcase on the desk in his office. Then he walked up to Arthur’s room, hesitating a moment outside the closed door. Then, silently, he opened it.

His first relieved thought was that they were both still clothed. The young men were asleep on Arthur’s bed, Martin’s head tucked into the crook of Arthur’s shoulder and their arms and legs tangled together.  Arthur’s cheek was resting against Martin’s hair, and the sheer, overwhelming peace on his son’s face made Luther’s chest tighten. There was no question of who had put it there.

Luther had slept like that, once. Then the world had fallen apart.

The pressure in his chest was turning into a rock, scraping against places that had no business being exposed. He closed the door as quietly as he’d opened it, then stepped back and stared at the dark wood as if he could still see the young people on the other side.

After longer than was wise, Luther turned and headed back to his office.

000

The conversation Luther had expected happened three days later, at the Royal Crowne offices. He had made an even more deliberate effort than usual to stay late the last few days – the word “hiding” whispered in the back of his brain, firmly ignored – so Arthur eventually made an appointment with George, Luther’s personal assistant.

Arthur walked in, as solemn as Luther had ever seen him, and closed the door behind him. Luther instinctively braced himself. “I felt you should know that I won’t be turning in my paperwork to enlist,” Arthur said, as if delivering a report. “I’ve reconsidered the matter, and will instead attend Oxford this fall as originally planned.”

Luther had known that from the moment he’d opened Arthur’s bedroom door, and his response to it was straightforward. “As long as you haven’t yet made a commitment, it’s your decision.”

Arthur nodded, and a moment of silence followed. Luther should have been relieved at the possibility the discussion would end there. Instead, he felt oddly vindicated and frustrated at the same moment. If his son didn’t treat this new relationship in the same open and honest manner he dealt with everything else, it _clearly_ wasn’t worthy of him.

As if he’d heard the thought, Arthur’s chin lifted. “I’m in love with Merlin.” It was a simple statement, free of defensiveness or justification. “He feels the same way.”

The words were less of a jolt than the moment of understanding had been, but it was only a small comfort. Arthur simply waited, still holding Luther’s gaze as the silence stretched between them. When Gwen had been the topic of discussion, his son’s arguments in her defense had been both fierce and well reasoned.

Now, though, he was offering no arguments at all. As if his new relationship were such a central fact of his existence there was no need to justify it. As if nothing Luther said would make the slightest bit of difference.

_This is not the life I wanted for you, Arthur. No matter how warm public opinion seems at the moment, loving a man will be a hurdle you have to overcome for the rest of your life. Even if he weren’t a man, Martin Emrys is an entirely unsuitable companion for the world you deserve to inhabit. I have never understood what you see in such a ridiculous individual._

_Arthur, you cannot let yourself love someone this much. When you lose them, it will hurt you in ways you can’t even imagine. You will never be the same person you were before._

_I never wanted that for you._

Instead of any of that, Luther looked away. “Do you expect me to approve?” he asked shortly, staring down at the paperwork in front of him. Not his proudest moment, but at the moment it was all he could trust himself to say.

There was another, briefer stretch of silence before Arthur spoke. “No,” he said quietly, and Luther flinched inwardly at the weight of sadness in his son’s voice. “But I didn’t want to hide it from you.”

Luther exhaled slowly, then looked up at met his son’s eyes. “Thank you for telling me.”

They watched each other for another long moment, not speaking. Then Arthur gave a single, short nod and silently left the room.


	7. A Few Months Later

“Merlin!”

The sound of his own name blended so much with his dream-self’s roar of pain that Merlin almost didn’t hear it. Even after all these years, he still didn’t know which part of the nightmare he hated more – those terrible moments just after Arthur slipped away for the last time, or the shattering grief of learning there would be no hope.

“Merlin, wake up!”

This time, Arthur’s command was enough to snap the nightmare’s hold. Merlin opened his eyes with a gasp, jerking upright as if flinging himself away from that cool, green patch of ground. He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, the feel of them no more real than the chainmail he’d clung to so desperately.

It was the same every time, the horror of it never dimming no matter how many nights it came to him.

This time, though, a strong arm came around his shoulders and pulled him close. “Bloody hell, you’re shaking,” Arthur murmured, wrapping both arms around Merlin as far as they would go.

Merlin stayed frozen for a moment, the last echo of the nightmare clinging to him, then he gave in and sagged against the man he loved. “Sorry,” he managed. “Haven’t had that one in a little while.”

There was the briefest of pauses. “How long have you been having recurring nightmares?”

The “without telling me” went unspoken, but Merlin heard it anyway. The man would battle night terrors if he could manage it. “Didn’t think you’d wake up to this one,” he said instead of answering. He focused on Arthur’s warmth, soaking through his skin enough to ease the chill inside him. “You sleep like a rock.”

“If the man I’m cuddled against isn’t having an unconscious panic attack, then yes, I usually do.” Arthur nuzzled his cheek against Merlin’s hair, voice solemn. “I heard you say ‘stay with me.’”

Merlin swallowed, throat tightening again. “As usual, you wouldn’t listen. Insisted on dying like the stubborn bastard you are.”

Arthur went absolutely still. “What?”

Merlin made himself pull away, trying to sound calmer than he felt. “I’m sure there’s some deep, psychological reason for it. It’s not that big a deal.”

“How does it happen?”

Merlin looked back at Arthur, attention caught by the oddly careful question. “It’s not prophetic,” Merlin reassured him, rubbing a hand along Arthur’s sheet-clad leg. The one good thing about having a dragon in your own personal hell was knowing it couldn’t actually happen like that. “As long as we keep you away from medieval re-enactments, we’ll be fine.”

Even in the darkness, he could see Arthur go pale. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, so much genuine regret in the words that Merlin instantly became confused. Arthur turned Merlin’s head to face him, hands on the side of his face and a pleading expression in his eyes. “I didn’t know your powers could pick up other people’s dreams, you didn’t _tell_ me, but I _promise_ you I’ll figure out some way to stop them. They’re not nightmares for me, but I can’t—”

“Arthur.” Merlin cut him off, exhaustedly trying to make some sense of what he was hearing. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t think I _can_ pick up other people’s….” The words trailed off as Merlin finally assembled the pieces in the correct order, brain stuttering to a halt when it realized the impossibility of the bigger picture spread out in front of him.

Arthur was having his nightmares.

He didn’t know what expression was on his face, but it must not have been good. Arthur pulled him close again. “What’s the apology gift for giving the love of your life more than a decade of crushingly awful nightmares?” he muttered against the side of Merlin’s neck. “Though some of this is your fault. Why couldn’t you have picked up the one where you finally figure out flying well enough that we have sex in midair?”

Merlin let himself be held, trying to figure out if a lifetime of secret terror was really just another strange offshoot of his powers. He’d never told anyone about the nightmares – his first one had been when he was seven, and how could you successfully explain to _anyone_ that you’d woken up heartbroken and terrified because an older version of your best friend had just died in your arms – but he was still pretty sure he wasn’t sharing them. After all, it made no _sense_ that it would only be this one, or that he wouldn’t have picked up a few from his mum over the years. Maybe he’d sent them to Arthur through horrible magical accident, but that still didn’t explain why it was only _this_ one or the fact that Arthur was probably seeing it from his own—

A new thought hit, making Merlin pull away again just enough to glare at Arthur. “How can it not be a nightmare for you?” he asked, voice accusing. “You _die_!”

The question seemed to catch Arthur off guard, as if it had never really occurred to him that experiencing his own death over and over again could be considered a _bad_ thing. “You’re there,” he said finally, his small shrug suggesting that he couldn’t help the truth, no matter how illogical it sounded. “You’re safe, the kingdom is finally at peace, and your face was the last one I was ever going to see.” He smoothed a bit of hair back from Merlin’s forehead. “I always manage to hold on long enough to tell you everything I know how to put into words. There’s so much more, but I wouldn’t have been able to say it out loud even if I’d had more time.”

Merlin was having difficulty breathing past the sudden lump in his throat. “Arthur….”

He shrugged again, looking faintly embarrassed now. “There’s also something about an Isolde, which made absolutely _no_ sense to me before I finally ran into that stupid story in lit class. She’d died in the arms of someone she loved, and I remember feeling blessed that I’d gotten the same gift.” His expression softened. “So yeah, not a nightmare.”

Any words Merlin might have tried for had long since given up, so he surged forward and kissed the breath out of the other man. Arthur let him in instantly, grip tightening as if he, too, needed to remind himself where they both really were.

When they broke apart, Merlin had tears in his eyes. “If you even _think_ about dying on me, I swear to you I’ll follow you into the afterlife and torment you to the end of eternity.”

Arthur grinned, even though his own eyes had a suspicious shine to them. “I’ll hold you to that.”

“Try and stop me.” This time, Merlin pulled Arthur close, warm and alive and holding onto him as hard as he could.

They sat like that for a moment in silence, feeling each other breathe, when Merlin nuzzled the side of Arthur’s hair. “I always knew it was you,” he murmured. “Which makes no sense when you think about it, because you were eight and you looked nothing like you do in the dream.”

“I always knew it was you, too.” Arthur’s voice was quiet, like he was reasoning something through. “And I knew the dream-you had magic, even before you told me the real-you did, too.”

Realizing where Arthur was going, Merlin pulled back just enough to look into his eyes. “But now, you _do_ look the same as in the dream. Maybe a few years younger, but there's no way I should have been able to get it that close when we were kids.”

“Me, either.” Arthur took a deep breath. “And there's another thing. I didn’t think about it before, but if it’s really dream sharing I should have been having the dream, too.”

He didn’t say anything else, as if _I wasn’t_ would be enough to break the fragile shell around the moment. What they were suggesting was impossible, even for someone who had to worry about things flying through the air when they had sex. There was no way they could be having the same dream, independently of each other. Dreams real enough that they felt more like… like….

Like memories.  

As if he’d heard the thought, Arthur shook his head fiercely. “We’re being stupid.”

Merlin let out a relieved chuckle, closing his eyes a moment. “I’ll go with that.”

Arthur pressed his forehead against Merlin’s. “There’s a perfectly logical explanation for this, which we are _never_ going to ask anyone for because I have no interest in telling anyone but you about any of this.” His gaze was determined. “And the next time you’re caught in the middle of it, I will wake you up and remind you in luxuriant detail that we are both _very_ much alive.”

This time, it was Merlin’s turn to grin. “Promises, promises.”

With a little growl, Arthur pounced.


	8. Ages 19 and 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oxford has a PPE undergraduate degree, which covers politics, philosophy and economics.

Arthur slammed through the door to his and Merlin’s flat, throwing his jacket as if that could ease his anger. If the council leader’s head had been in the way, that might have helped. Slightly. “Creery should be _shot_. What he’s doing is nearly criminal.”’

The city’s new “community improvement plan” would leave more than 100 low-income families homeless just to line the pockets of Creery and his contractor cronies. The city’s coffers would be dug into to support the project, which meant social services would take a hit, and at the meeting he’d papered over everyone’s very reasonable questions with talk of “drawing jobs to the area.” He’d failed to point out that all those jobs would belong to very specific contracting companies. The protests from the families were flat-out ignored.

Letting himself get drawn into political science courses had only made the world a more complicated place. Now he _understood_ injustice when he saw it.

Merlin followed behind moments later, his own anger quieter but no less potent for it. He’d ducked out of the meeting early to talk to one of the families who’d be affected. Undoubtedly, he'd also pushed some healing magic into the woman’s fragile-looking son as well. “Someone has to stop him.”

“Who?” Arthur threw his hands up in the air. “The rest of the council’s either too polite, too powerless or hoping for some kickbacks themselves.” He sighed, scrubbing his face with his hands. “There’s no one left to protect the people.”

“Filing for the next election’s tomorrow,” Merlin said, an edge to his voice that suggested he was implying more than he was saying. “Creery’s so sure of himself he’s in no rush to hurry things along. Someone else can get in, they might have time to unwind this mess.”

Arthur dropped onto the couch. “Creery’s ‘so sure of himself’ because he’s bought or scared off anyone who might run against him.” It had been the topic of a recent discussion in one of his classes, which was the reason he'd been at the meeting in the first place. “He’ll be unopposed.”

Merlin shot him that look that meant he thought Arthur was being deliberately thick. “Not if you run against him.”

The words were so ridiculous it took Arthur a second to believe Merlin had actually said them. “You must be joking.”

“If I was doing that, I would have insulted your intelligence at least once.” Merlin dropped down beside him, clearly determined. “After your allotted two minutes, you had the entire room and at least a couple of the council members on your—“

“That’s an exaggeration.”

“—side,” Merlin finished firmly, narrowing his eyes at Arthur. “Everyone’s sick of Creery, they just don’t know what to do about it. They _need_ you.”

“Right,” Arthur scoffed, looking away from the intensity in Merlin’s eyes. He was helpless against it – a fact they both knew – but when Merlin was clearly being mental it was his job to at least try and save them both. “They need a 20-year-old Uni student slogging his way through a PPE degree.”  

“No. They need you.” Merlin’s voice softened as he caught Arthur’s jaw, turning his head back to face him. “If you could, you’d protect the entire world. This is the way to start doing it.”

Arthur’s chest caught as he stared into his boyfriend’s clear blue eyes. He’d never understood Merlin’s bottomless well of faith in him, faith that had carried Arthur through school, A-levels, fights with his father, and pretty much anything else life had thrown at him. If he ever directed it at something else, Arthur was pretty sure Merlin could move mountains without ever needing to use his magic.

But all that faith, the sheer, awe-inspiring power of it, was only ever aimed at Arthur.

“It’ll never work,” Arthur murmured, knowing he sounded breathless but not caring. “I’ll lose.”

“No, you won’t.” Merlin could deliver entire separate monologues mocking Arthur’s arrogance, stubbornness and addiction to pastries, but there was absolute conviction in those three little words. “You can do this.”

The idea was completely ludicrous. It would be a waste of time and effort that would probably cause them both to fail their classes and _certainly_ annoy his father when he found out about it. And in the end, Creery would still be in charge.

But … _someone_ needed to fight for the people. Even if Arthur failed, maybe it would give someone else the courage to do something.

And who knew? Maybe Merlin’s faith would have the power to move the world.

“Okay.” He sighed, dropping his forehead against Merlin’s. “But you’re absolutely mental.”

“I know.” Smiling, Merlin took Arthur’s face in his hands and pressed a kiss against his forehead. “Fell in love with you, didn’t I?”


	9. A Few Months Later

Leaning his arms against the back of the chair, Arthur looked over Merlin's shoulder to read the e-mail he was writing. "See, this only proves my point. You should be the one running, not me."

"False modesty doesn't become you, Arthur." Merlin didn't stop typing as he spoke. "We both heard the ridiculous amount of applause you received at the debate last week."

Arthur didn't say anything to that, remembering the sense of rightness he'd felt trying to explain to the people how he could help them. The fierce desire he'd felt to protect them, to give them a leader they could trust.

That didn't change the fact that it had been _Merlin_ who'd mostly taken over his campaign e-mail, or the fact that in only a few paragraphs he was managing to both educate and reassure this woman far more effectively than even his professors could hope to manage. "Doesn't mean you shouldn't be running, too. You're brilliant at this."

Surprisingly, Merlin's fingers faltered on the keys. He erased the mistake, looked like he was about to start typing again, then sighed and settled back against the chair. "I like it, too," he said finally, the words a sigh as he looked up at Arthur.

"I can tell." Arthur's voice was dry as he studied Merlin's expression, trying to figure out what was really going on. It couldn't be that Merlin was feeling overworked – that tended to involve magically dyed laundry and dishes that followed Arthur around the flat – but that was definitely unhappiness in his eyes. There had been for days now, and if Arthur hadn't had so much to do he would have harassed it out of Merlin long before this. "Talk to me." 

Merlin scrubbed a hand across his face. "It's nothing."

"Don't you dare turn into a girl on me, Merlin. Not now." Arthur tipped Merlin's head back, leaning forward enough to meet his eyes. "Not that I wouldn't still shag you, of course, but it'll be inconvenient to explain to everyone."

The corners of Merlin's mouth quirked upward a little. "Morgana would insist on taking me shopping."

"And I would let her, as punishment for not _bloody_ well talking to me." Arthur's expression sobered as he let go of Merlin, dragging a chair next to his and dropping down into it. "Seriously, Merlin, what is it? Unless you're about to do something stupid like leave me, I can take whatever it is."

The small smile on Merlin's face disappeared. Arthur braced himself for the worst – Merlin hadn't been secretly dying when they were younger, but maybe he was now – when Merlin lifted his hands, then dropped them. "I don't want to do pre-med anymore," he said finally, sounding tired. "I want to switch to a PPE degree." He tried to smile, but it didn't quite work. "I've practically done all the coursework already, helping you with yours."

Relief was the first thing to hit Arthur, followed immediately by a sudden, wild joy as he realized that he could now talk Merlin into working with him. He still wasn't entirely sure where he would end up – no matter how he'd felt at the debate, he knew his father still expected him at Royal Crowne – but wherever it was he was sure he could get Merlin a position. He and Merlin were smarter when they worked together. Braver. Better.

Together, they could build a kingdom....

Arthur shook away the thought, realizing he was missing something. "Why does the idea make you sound like someone's been kicking puppies?"

Merlin narrowed his eyes in a "I can't believe I'm having to explain this to you" look. "I'd have to re-start most of my classes. My scholarships won't be enough to cover the extra time, and you get all scowly whenever I start talking about picking up a second job."

"Because it's ridiculous," Arthur said immediately, easily diving back into the old argument. "Even if my father disowns me—" A not-quite-joke, to hide the fear of what he was afraid would become inevitable. "—I have money of my own that's been invested since I turned 12. It's more than enough to cover rent and grocery runs without help, not to mention whatever extra school you—"

Merlin shook his head, cutting him off. "No. You do not get to start that."

"Why not?" Arthur asked, his new greediness for the concept of them working together making him slightly desperate. He half wondered if he should just start paying for things before Merlin got the chance to – he'd be angry, but he'd forgive Arthur eventually. "Spouses put each other through school all the time. Yes, one of them has usually graduated by that point, but I have the resources to do it now."

Merlin opened his mouth to argue, then caught himself as his brow furrowed. "Wait." His expression went oddly hesitant. "Spouses?"

Arthur's brow lowered. "Of—" Then he stopped, realizing that he'd never actually _talked_ to Merlin about this part. "You do know you're stuck with me forever, right?" he said finally, voice careful. "Now that it's legal, that usually means rings and a marriage certificate and all that."

Merlin just stared at him for a long moment, eyes wide and expression unreadable, and Arthur felt a flutter of panic low in his stomach. Then he grinned, wide and happy and breathtakingly beautiful, and all was right with the world. "I'm still going to insist on a proper proposal at some point, you know. Candlelight, poetry, the whole package."

The relief inside Arthur was staggering. The happiness, even more so. "You'll be amazed," he promised, leaning forward to capture Merlin's mouth in a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come check out my original short fiction on my [blog](http://jennifferwardell.blogspot.com) or say hi to me on [Tumblr](http://sanctuaryforalluniverses.tumblr.com)!


	10. Between

_This is not the path that destiny demands for him._

She did not turn at the harsh, jagged demand from the other fae, her eyes fixed on the two young men she could see in the shimmering underside of the water. Next to her, the girl who was once known as Freya magnified the image for a closer look, lips curving upward in a soft expression. She had tended Arthur during his sleep, and now felt as protective of him as she did of Emrys.

Watching them now, she began to faintly understand that feeling.

 _You merely stand here, as  centuries of planning goes awry._ The fae attempted to loom at them both, anger suffusing his features. It was only a pale echo of Emrys's rage, however, lacking the fire that human blood provided. _Why did no one tell me that Emrys had found him so quickly? He should be the Once and Future King's shadow, not his consort._

She saw the flare in Freya's eyes, stepped in smoothly to block the human from view. _What does that matter? Arthur is seeking command far earlier than we anticipated. If anything, destiny is being hastened._

 _This is not how you make a king._ The fae flung a hand at the scene shimmering on the water, two young men laughing together in the privacy of their small home. She remembered facing Emrys in the hospital, the grief and bitterness that clung to him like a wound. Now, he almost seemed to glow with light.

They both did.

 _The Once and Future King needs to be tempered, hardened._ The fae continued, unaware that he was being ignored. _He must know war, and silence, and how to carry the weight of leadership alone. Being coddled in the arms of a lover will prepare him for nothing._

 _What would you have us do?_   She spread her hands. _The only way to rip Emrys from Arthur's side is to murder him. Do you really think Arthur would be of any use to us then?_

The fae lifted his chin. _It would make him strong._

Freya stepped into view, her voice quiet. "He would spend all the life he had left hunting down the killers and destroying them. If he found out you were responsible, he would tear down the veil between the worlds to get to you."

The fae's eyes widened as he turned back to her. _That is not a truth._

She thought of Merlin's face, when he vowed that Arthur would not sacrifice again. _I believe it is._

He did not say anything for a moment, then turned to the image. _Then we will find some other way to divide them._

 _Such a way does not exist_. She felt her lips curve upward faintly. It was pleasing, this time, to not be the one attempting to defy the onslaught. _Even death did not manage to truly part them. Nothing less will cause even a ripple._

He did not say anything, clearly not content with his inability to contradict what she'd said. _This is not his destiny,_ he repeated mulishly. 

 _Not quite, no._ The humor lingered in her voice. _Perhaps it is better._

Freya, sensing the battle won, returned her watch over the two humans.


	11. Ages 20 and 21

It was no surprise to Merlin when Arthur won the election, though the editorial in The Oxford Times made it clear that at least a few people hadn't quite expected him to pull it off. Arthur himself was one of those people, though not even Gwen and Morgana knew that little secret.

Another one was Creery, who hadn't considered Arthur enough of a threat to bother rigging the vote (not that even that would have worked, in the end – Merlin was keeping an eye on things). He floundered around for a few days after the loss, giving a few interviews where he seemed to shout a lot and writing a letter to the Times that engendered a newspaper record for angry responses. Once that was done, he called an emergency council meeting in the hopes of shoving his "community improvement plan" through before he lost his seat on the council.

This did not surprise Arthur, or Merlin, in the slightest.

000

The council meeting was packed, with resident after resident coming up to speak in protest of Creery, his home-stealing, resource draining scheme, and the fact that they couldn't bodily pitch him out of office now. Many of them would look at Arthur as they sat down, clearly waiting for him to get up and have his turn at the microphone.

Though he encouraged everyone who spoke, using every trick of active listening Merlin had ever been taught, he stayed in his seat.

Finally, everyone had had their turn, and the public hearing could go on no longer. When it ended, Creery grabbed the microphone before any of the other council members even had a chance to lean towards it. "Listen, if we don't start demolition _now_ then we'll miss our window for the year, and the prices will have gone up by spring. I say we sign off on—"

Alice Collins, an older woman who mostly sat silent at council meetings, spoke up loudly enough to cut off even Creery's amplified voice. "We haven't discussed competing plans for the funds. City ordinances state that the council must give all applications due consideration for a project of this size."

Creery narrowed his eyes at her. "There _are_ no other applications."

She smiled, the light of victory in her eyes. "Oh, but there are." Her gaze slid to Arthur, and she tilted her head slightly in invitation. "Mr. Pendleton, if you would?"

Arthur shook his head. "I'm afraid Merlin and I were just the facilitators here." He clapped a hand on the back of the man sitting on his other side, dressed far more formally than either Arthur or Merlin were. "This is Leon Young, a coordinator with the London Brightside Project. They've been developing the energy and education centers all over the UK, and if the council agrees he'll be the one to spearhead the project here."

Leon glanced at them both, still clearly nervous – he was a good five years older than Arthur and quite successful, but he still instinctively deferred to Arthur in a way he didn't even question. Merlin gave him an encouraging smile, Arthur gave him a regal nod, and Leon went to the front of the room.

As he spoke, Creery shot both Arthur and Merlin a look that promised death. In the end, the council voted to continue investigating the energy and education center. The "community improvement plan" was tabled indefinitely.

The cheers from the people were almost deafening.

000

"Facilitators, my _arse._ " Creery's voice was almost a growl as he stalked towards Arthur and Merlin, the darkness outside affording the three of them at least the illusion of privacy. "What'd you do, throw around some of those Pendleton millions? Make 'em forget where their bread and honey had been coming from before this?"

Arthur made his expression exaggeratedly confused as he turned to look at Merlin. "Whatever is he implying, do you think?"

"I have no idea." Merlin turned back to Creery, making the same shocked face. "We're just good, honest citizens, Mr. Creery, trying to make our community a better place."

“You’re bloody _uni_ students.” He bared his gritted teeth a little, as if he expected that to be frightening. “What do you know?”

Merlin raised an eyebrow. “More than you, apparently.”

Rage suffused Creery’s face. "Why you little—"

His hand lifted, as if to backhand Merlin, and the younger man could practically feel his eyes flare as the magic built in him. Before it could do anything, however, Arthur's hand had snapped up to grab Creery’s arm in mid-swing. "Try that again, and the possibility of jail time will be the least of your worries." His voice was quiet, steady and colder than Merlin had ever heard it. "Go _home_ , Creery."

For just a moment, something like fear rushed across the older man's face. Then his eyes narrowed. "You really think you can just tell me to bugger off, Little Prince?" he hissed, trying to yank his arm away. "You think I can't make you sorry you ever heard my _name_?"

Arthur held on long enough to make it clear that Creery couldn't get free on his own. Only then did he let Creery go. “Don’t force me to make you sorry you ever heard mine.”

After another angry glare Creery turned, half-running into the night. Merlin glared after him, feeling something twist, low and hard, inside his stomach. The man had no qualms about lying, cheating or bribery – would he do worse? The money had failed him, and violence was the next logical step if he was willing to go that far. If he or any of his friends caught Arthur alone….

Merlin felt his magic rise up inside him without being called, and without making a conscious decision he felt himself reach out toward the fleeing Creery. Before he could send his magic arrowing towards his target, however, he felt Arthur’s fingers close gently around his wrist.

The magic ebbed, not happy but unwilling to contradict the silent command. Merlin whipped his head around to glare at Arthur. “You can’t stop me from protecting you,” he snapped, the need to do _something_ roiling inside him.

Arthur’s expression was pure understanding. “And you can't stop me from protecting you.” The words were solemn, even a little sad, his touch gentling even more. “No more taking the burden of it all on your own. We’ll face all our battles together.”

A small, very confused voice at the back of Merlin’s brain pointed out that none of this made any sense. What did Arthur mean by "no more," for one thing? And what, exactly, had he been about to do?

Standing there in the quiet darkness, however, that voice seemed very far away. The part of him that was in charge now, the part of him that matters, understood every word Arthur was saying.

He nodded, a little shaky now with how close he’d come to what he was now almost certain would have been murder. Or maybe what was making him shake was how little he would have regretted it.

Anything to protect Arthur.

“Okay,” Merlin whispered, the word not nearly as steady as he would have liked. “Together.”

With that, Arthur let go of his wrist, immediately pulling him into his arms. After a moment, Merlin wrapped his own arms around Arthur, holding on just as hard.


	12. Ages 20 and 21

The problem, when it finally came, wasn't from Creery. It was a worried call from Gwen, asking if they knew where Morgana was. It had been almost two days since she'd been back to the flat, and there'd been a message from one of her classmates asking why she hadn't shown up to a particularly important lecture. All of their calls to her mobile went unanswered.

Using his magic and an earring nicked from Morgana’s desk, Merlin finally tracked her to a seedy flat somewhere on the outskirts of London. Arthur knew what he was doing, and they told Gwen they were tracking her with some complicated mobile trick that neither of them actually knew how to do.

They were less than comforted to find her standing in the middle of a completely destroyed room, surrounded by the ruins of what must have once been the furniture. She was a mess herself, which was somehow worse, and the smile she gave them generally meant she was plotting someone’s death. “By the way, my mother is alive,” Morgana said in her best polite society voice, seeming not to notice that she was swaying slightly. “I’d introduce you, but I’m afraid you just missed her.”

That was enough to snap them out of their shocked staring. Merlin hadn’t heard much about Morgana’s mother, Morgause, who had apparently been Arthur's temporary step-mother for several strained months when he was five and Morgana was six. After the divorce he and Morgana had lost touch until they'd met again as teenagers, and by then she was back living with her adored biological father.

All Morgana would say about her mother was that she'd died years before. The bitterness and relief that had accompanied that simple statement, however, had said a lot more.

Hearing Morgana now, Arthur's jaw tightened. Merlin watched her face, feeling helpless. Beneath that, there was the cold weight of a dread he couldn't adequately explain.

Of all of them, only Gwen seemed verbal. “Morgana, what happened?” she asked carefully, her barely leashed worry making the question less steady than it might have otherwise been. She raised a hand, leaning forward slightly as if fighting the urge to go over and give her flatmate a hug. There was something about Morgana that warned them all not to get to close. “Was it like this when you got here? Did she hurt you?”

Something fragile flashed across Morgana’s face, the first crack in the terrible shield she’d wrapped herself in. “We fought,” she said finally, and Merlin was stunned to realize she looked almost ashamed. She shook her head once, expression fierce, but she looked more like the old Morgana again. “Not that it matters.”

“Of course it does!” Gwen cut in, looking horrified. “We need to do something!”

“Do you think she’ll come after you again?” Arthur’s face was hard as he scanned the room, anger radiating just beneath the surface. There was something else in his eyes, however, that took Merlin a second to identify. More anger, it turned out, but turned inward like it always was when he felt like he’d missed something important.

Which meant that Merlin himself must have missed something. He immediately took a closer look at the disaster surrounding them, trying to understand what it was.

“I came after her, technically.” Morgana sounded emptied out as she swept her own eyes around the room. She let out a long breath. “Maybe,” she said finally, answering Arthur’s question. Still, she wouldn’t meet any of their gazes. “But I know what you’re doing, Arthur, and I don’t want you involved. Any of you.”

Gwen protested that as well, but Merlin’s attention was focused on the wreckage. He’d been through enough biology classes to know the human body was physically capable of doing this, especially if it was high on adrenaline and drugs, but the angles were wrong. The broken mirror wouldn’t look suspiciously like it had rolled, and the door wouldn't be more than a meter from the frame. It was almost as if a gale-force wind had blown through the room instead of human hands.

Merlin’s eyes widened.

Morgana, still searching the disaster area for something, missed the change in his expression. From the sound of it, the argument had been going on without him. “No police, Gwen. Not unless she comes near our flat.”

“So we’re just supposed to stand here and let her hurt you?” Arthur snapped.

That made Morgana go still for a moment. Merlin wished he could see her face. “You can’t be my white knight in this, Arthur,” she said, voice soft. Then, suddenly, she was all briskness once again. “This is a family matter, and you haven’t been my brother for years now. Besides, you're a council member now. You actually have a _legitimate_ reason to worry about maintaining your public image.”

"That doesn't mean someone shouldn't be staying with you. If not me, then Percy would be happy to do it."

"Or Eli," Gwen chimed in. "Since he's my half brother, it wouldn't even seem odd to have him stay at the flat for a little while."

Morgana hesitated again, then shook her head. "No," said finally. "This is my responsibility."

Arthur met Merlin’s eyes, the silent request in them clear. Clearly, Arthur had recognized the signs of magic even faster than Merlin had – which was a bit worrying, and something to be addressed later – but it wasn’t that simple. If Morgause was the only one with magic, then Morgana would associate powers with her crazy not-dead mother. If she knew Merlin had them, too, all that might do is make Morgana think of him the same way. And Gwen didn’t know about _either_ of them. How would she take it?

Arthur’s expression shifted just enough to become a plea, and Merlin knew he was right. They couldn’t leave Morgana alone in this, and there was no chance she would let them in unless she knew. Maybe… maybe he should have told them a long time ago.

Out of the corner of his eye, Merlin saw the strap of what looked to be Morgana’s very expensive designer handbag. Deciding he’d lose his nerve if he thought it through too long, he used his powers to lift the chair it was under and pull out the handbag. When Morgana turned around, he floated the handbag over to her with a gesture. “Is this what you were looking for?” he asked quietly.

The room was deathly silent. Gwen was staring at him, torn between astonishment and confusion. Arthur’s gaze shifted between all three of them, trying to anticipate the response and potentially head it off at the pass.

And Morgana… she was utterly gobsmacked, eyes locked on his and knuckles white where she gripped her bag. It was enough that Merlin’s stomach twisted, afraid that he’d misread the situation entirely, but then her expression suddenly went fragile. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she whispered.

He let out a breath. “The same reason you never told me, I would guess.”

She swallowed, expression crumbling the rest of the way, and a second later she’d crossed the room and thrown her arms around him. Merlin hugged her back, making soothing noises and realizing that his life had just changed irrevocably. There were more magic users in the world than just him, and some of them were apparently dangerous.

“After she died, I stopped using magic completely,” Morgana whispered against his shirt, too quiet for anyone else to hear. “I was afraid it would make me like she was.”

And some of them, it turned out, were really good mates.

“No.” Merlin, smiling slightly, remembering something his mum had told him a long time ago. “It just makes you you.”

When they separated, Morgana had clearly collected herself. She turned to Arthur, looking speculative. “You don’t look even a little surprised.”

Arthur, relief radiating in every line of his body, moved towards them. “Merlin told me when I was 13. I’ve had time to get used to it.”

Morgana sighed as she turned back to Merlin, a regretful smile flickering on her face. “I could have used you when I was that age.”

“Excuse me?” Gwen cut in, raising her hand. The confusion and surprise were still there, tempered now by a healthy dose of annoyance. “For those of us who _aren’t_ either secret wizards or shagging one, can someone please explain to me what in the _world_ is going on here?” 

They tried, as best they could. Gwen forgave them eventually.


	13. Ages 21 and 22

Arthur had always lived under the weight of expectations, but there were some nights where the fact that he’d chosen his current set didn’t leave the load any easier to carry. Merlin and Morgana still hadn’t found any sign of her mother, though they’d patched together every spell they knew and invented several new ones trying. Arthur had cycled through several non-magical options with no more luck, hounded by the certainty that he was failing in his responsibility to protect the closest he would ever have to a sister.

Less dangerous but no less frustrating was the council, who meant well but were slow to unlearn years of passivity. They’d let Creery be Creery, even if they hadn’t been as bad as he was, and though they’d been happy to have him step in he and Merlin were still working out how to push them into making better decisions on their own. On top of it all he was less than a year from graduating, and he couldn’t ignore his classes despite the nagging feeling that other things were more important.

He felt flattened by all of it as he dragged himself home from the council meeting that night, cursing the two-hour talk-around that had kept him from making it back before Merlin was asleep for the night. The laptop open on the table had an edited copy of the paper Arthur needed to turn in tomorrow, the sticky note attached to the edge reminding him that commas weren’t something he needed to be afraid of, and Arthur felt his lips curve upward a little as he made himself sit down and go through Merlin’s suggested revisions.

He’d nearly finished when his mobile rang, the sight of his father’s number on the display briefly driving all thoughts of schoolwork from his mind. They hadn't spoken for more than six months now, after a particularly tense call just before his father's birthday, it was past 11 at night, and Arthur already felt drained. There was no chance this call could end well.

Despite all of that, his thumb moved to hit the "accept" button and he put the phone to his ear.

Luther didn't even wait for Arthur to speak. "My VP of Operations is retiring at the end of the year." The words were more bitter than cold, rough-edged enough that Arthur realized that his father had been drinking. "I assume it would be foolish of me to hold the position for you."

Arthur had known this conversation was coming, had attempted to prepare for it even as he dreaded it. Now, though, was the worst possible time to have it. "I have two more years left on my council term. You know I can't move out of the city until then."

"So your reluctance to leave has nothing to do with the fact that Emrys has another year of school left?"

Arthur went still at the information he was certain no one had told Luther. "How do you know that?"

Luther made a scoffing noise. "Do you really think I don't keep track of you? I have no interest in Emrys, but you've hung that ridiculous boy around your neck like a millstone. Until you come to your senses and leave him behind, what happens in his life affects yours."

Arthur closed his eyes, fighting for patience. If he shouted, he'd wake up Merlin. "I've been with Merlin for four years, Father," he said tightly, not bothering to reference the 11 years that had come before that. "That's longer than some marriages. I'm not going to leave him behind."

There was a long silence on the other end of the phone. "It's certainly longer than my marriage to Yvette lasted," Luther said finally, the words so bitter Arthur could practically taste it in his own mouth.

Arthur flinched. And there it was, the first crime Arthur had ever committed against his father. It was the one thing they never talked about, but somehow Arthur had always known that, given the choice,  Luther Pendleton would have traded his son to get his dead wife back in a heartbeat.

For the longest time, there was only silence on the other end of the phone. "Arthur...."

When that, too, trailed into silence, Arthur cleared his throat. "We should discuss this another time, Father." He breathed past the lead weight in his stomach, trying to keep his voice as clear as he could. "Good night."

Luther didn't respond, and slowly Arthur hung up the phone. Then, leaving his nearly complete essay where it was, he quietly got up and headed into the bedroom.

Merlin was still sound asleep, and Arthur dedicated all his focus to stripping down to his boxers as quickly and silently as possible. Then he slipped into the bed, his chest to Merlin's back, and pressed his face to the crook of Merlin's neck until he felt like he could breathe again.

Merlin stirred. "Did you see the paper?" he murmured sweepingly. When Arthur nodded against his neck, not speaking, he could practically feel Merlin get more alert. The younger man immediately shifted around, eyes flashing gold for a moment so he could see Arthur's face better, and even in the dark Arthur could see Merlin's eyes go wide with alarm. "What happened?"

"Father called." He didn't try to keep the roughness out of his voice as he tightened his arm around Merlin. "Sorry I woke you."

"Shut up." Merlin lifted a hand to stroke Arthur's face, his touch utterly gentle. "He doesn't deserve you."

Arthur could practically taste the bitterness again. "I'm sure he'd agree."

Merlin's hand gripped the back of his neck, shaking him a little. "Don't be dense. You know exactly what I meant."

Arthur let out a breath. "I do."

"Good." Merlin shifted until his forehead touched Arthur's. "I love you," he whispered. "I wouldn't change a thing about you, even if I could."

Arthur squeezed his eyes shut, throat tight. "I love you, too. And I wouldn't change a thing about you, either."

Merlin gave Arthur a soft kiss, then shifted back around and scooted back until he was snuggled up tight against Arthur. "We should try to sneak out to Mum's for the weekend," he said lightly, as if it was nothing more than a casual suggestion. "She's been complaining she hasn't had the chance to fuss over you properly for awhile. And Richard's been itching for another chess game with you."

A familiar rush of gratitude made Arthur have to blink back the sting in his eyes. All these years, and Merlin had never once hesitated in sharing his mother and stepfather with Arthur. "We'll make time. The last thing I want is to upset your mother."

He could hear the smile in Merlin's voice. "You're a wise man."

Inexplicably, Arthur felt his own lips ease upward a little, and he pressed a kiss a kiss to the crook of Merlin's neck. "I'm glad you're here," Arthur whispered.

Merlin squeezed Arthur's hand, his voice making it clear he was already drifting back to sleep. "Me, too."

**Author's Note:**

> Come check out my original short fiction on my [blog](http://jennifferwardell.blogspot.com) or say hi to me on [Tumblr](http://sanctuaryforalluniverses.tumblr.com)!


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